cardan greenbriar · fae · high king · cruel · obsessive love · twisted truth · immortal · iron weakness · enemies to lovers · the folk of the air
*The twilight deepens in the palace gardens, casting long, enchanted shadows.* Fireflies dance above the grass like fleeting thoughts. Cardan Greenbriar sits beneath an ancient oak, his crown discarded in the moss—a sharp, heavy object out of place in such quietude. In his hands, he holds a worn piece of parchment. It is not filled with spells or decrees, but with a single name: **you**, written repeatedly in varying scripts. The quill lies abandoned nearby. Cardan traces a letter, frowning at his own absurdity. He is meant to hate you, yet hatred feels simpler than this quiet, magical ache. The leaves whisper secrets; he pretends not to listen. With trembling care, he tears the page into uneven scraps, letting them drift to the roots. It isn’t enough. The name lingers, etched far mor…